Where Have All the Good Men Gone?
by FindingXXX
Summary: Russia and America are fighting again, but this time they release pressure in a new way. Has nothing to do with the song, that was just in my head at the time. R-18 yaoi.


America wasn't sure how he had ended up in this position, but he didn't like it. Not at all.

So why the hell was he turned on by his most hated Russian rival pushing him against the banister and nipping his neck? Why was it fiery pleasure and not pain that rushed through him? Why was he glad for the warmth of the larger man's body pressed against his, the feel of them grinding together through layers of thick clothes?

But he did, god, he couldn't fucking think straight as a rough tongue licked the base of his jugular, following it up, then scalding lips closing over the sensitive spot under his ear. The sensation of being covered by a larger chest that smelled like pine trees, the slow rolling of sharply narrow hips against his own, reminding him of latent power by sheer dominating size.

Lick.  
>Suck.<br>Thrust.  
>Hate.<br>_More, goddammit_

America pressed his face into the wall, arching his back and hissing when a hand on his ass forced him to his toes, rubbing their clothed erections together, but it still wasn't enough contact. Just enough to send sinful sparks of pleasure up his spine as Russia placed sloppy kisses up and down his neck, alternating biting and sucking so often it was hard to tell the feelings apart.

"One of these days, Fredka, I will make you mine." growled the ice-blonde, large hand coming down to cover America's shoulder blades. Immediately he saw red and shoved off the wall, shaking his rival-lover-something off. He grabbed Russia by the arms and slammed him back against the wall, making the plaster crack, before diving in for a vicious kiss. The Ruskie's mouth was surprisingly soft, and once he worked his way past the sharp teeth, America set to suckling on his tongue and demanding dominance.

It was dirty to be humping his arch nemesis in a hallway like a dog in heat, but he was and it was making him hotter. In retaliation, he rubbed his cock against Russia's through their pants. Growling now, he tore open that damn huge coat, buttons flying everywhere as he shredded open the white dress shirt and got to tonguing one cherry-pink nipple, drawing a groan from his captive. America couldn't help slamming his hips up harder, the delicious friction of his pants chafing against his cock, making it far harder than it should be. Hands flew to hips pressing them closer together, all though who's hands were who's was totally lost, dissolved under frictions and growing moans.

"Want you." hissed Russia in his ear, shocking them both but not stopping their desperate rocking. "Naked. Hard. Moaning for me, Fredka, I can see it." Then America _did_ moan, because he could picture his rival under him, twitching and slick, flushed and prepared my his own hand. America could picture sinking into him, knowing that clenching heat on his length, the sound of Russian curses in his ear. He grabbed Russia's thigh, hoisting it up so they could grind directly into one another, the zipper of his pants pushing into his erection and adding pain to the pleasure.

Suddenly he felt a hand in his hair, yanking, pulling, _deargodhewastuggingonthatcurl,_ making America lose all his sanity and rut against the bigger nation like an animal, whole world shrinking down to the orgasm curling wetly in his stomach. He allowed his free hand to tear off Russia's scarf, then devoured the scar-filled neck, all lips and tongue and teeth and fuck, why wasn't it enough? The flesh was delightful, rough in some places, soft in others, the friction of their bodies was beyond the melting point, but why couldn't he come? He had never wanted to more in his entire life, against the bigger nation, in a hall where anyone could see. He was just about to cast himself away when Russia began to buck madly, riding his groin and half-snarling something in his own language, then tensing hard. Warm dampness seeped through the layers, and the knowledge that it was Russia's cum soaking his pants, that _he_ had caused that, sent America jerking wildly to his own completion, filling his own pants with semen, making it drip down his leg as he lost his grip, and they tumbled to the floor.

They collapsed on top of one another, panting for a moment, before the commie rolled away to rearrange his scarf, grab a bottle of vodka from the nearby counter and yanking the cap off with his teeth. He spit this at America, who picked it up and threw it back.

"Hate you." growled the big Slavic country, resting against the wall and glaring at him.

"Hate you more, Red." returned America, arranging his hair.

It was the beginning of a long and beautiful relationship.


End file.
